


Pedigrees

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: First Time, Humor, M/M, NYC - Freeform, Romance, Scrabble, Slash, Smut, Texting, housesitting, pinto bingo, pinto de mayo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-05
Updated: 2010-05-05
Packaged: 2017-11-06 16:08:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So, I've been really worried about Noah and Harold's well-being during this whole NYC thing. A bit tooth-rotting.  This takes place after <a href="http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/tnees-1.jpg">~*~the sighting~*~</a> and <a href="http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pedigreescwalk.jpg">somewhere</a> <a href="http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pedigreesztext.jpg"> around</a> <a href="http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pedigreescmet.jpg"> here </a>.  How's that for a stalkery summary?  Also may or may not have attempted to <a href="http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pintobingo.png">spell Pinto every which way</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pedigrees

**Title:** Pedigree  
 **Author:** htebazytook  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Disclaimer:** Pairing: Zach/Chris, (Chris/Noah, Zach/Twitter)  
 **Author's Notes:** So, I've been really worried about Noah and Harold's well-being during this whole NYC thing. A bit tooth-rotting. This takes place after [~*~the sighting~*~](http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/tnees-1.jpg) and [somewhere](http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pedigreescwalk.jpg%20) [ around](http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pedigreesztext.jpg) [ here ](http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pedigreescmet.jpg%20). How's that for a stalkery summary? Also may or may not have attempted to [spell Pinto every which way](http://i590.photobucket.com/albums/ss343/htebazytook3/pintobingo.png).

 

"Your ego is literally threatening to block out the sun, here, okay? I can in fact go consecutive days without seeing you. _Or_ talking to you."

"That's not what you said last night."

"Hey, shut up, that was different—Harold didn't want the dry food. It was _kind of_ an emergency . . ."

"Psh, you just miss the sound of my voice. Don't lie, Chris. It's unbecoming."

"Miss it? I overdosed on Zachary Quinto and his penchant for drunken rambling last weekend, and—"

"That's a good story," Zach interrupts. " _I_ think you just can't bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your sight."

"I don't know where you get your delusions, laser brain."

"Oh, man. That one really stung, princess . . ."

"Yeah, I think it goes without saying that I'd rather kiss a wookie. I guess Noah will have to do, though. Isn't that right, Noah?"

Noah barks.

Zach laughs. "Dude, Trekkies everywhere are crying themselves to sleep right now."

"Ha."

"Let me . . . Well, nah, never mind. So how's Los—?"

"You wanna talk to Noah, don't you, Zach."

"No, I just . . ."

"Here he is!" Chris crouches on the floor and holds his phone out to Noah. Noah sniffs it excitedly and Chris can hear Zach's laughter on the other line, followed by a pretty ridiculous bout of schmoopy babytalk which Noah responds to by slobbering all over an iPhone and giving Chris an accusing look: _What, no Zach inside?!_

"Excellent," Chris mutters, attempts to wipe the receiver off on his sleeve while Noah attempts to undo all his hard work, pawing at him.

"Yeah, I think Noah thinks phones mean food because I usually give him my leftovers when I'm on the phone and not paying attention." Zach opens and closes a door and Chris is about to ask him where he's going when— "Okay, man. I've gotta go. Try not to clean out my _entire_ fridge, okay?"

"Later."

*

When Chris had agreed to housesit for Zach it had been back in New York during a fairly inebriated time in his life, and Zach had taken advantage of Chris's fragile state so that Chris now found himself sitting on Zach's couch with Zach's cat snoozing nearby and Zach's dog trying to steal Zach's food on its way to Chris's mouth.

On the first day, after too many texts from Chris, Joe had showed up and explained Zach's coffeemaker to him and revealed the secret to feeding both pets at once.

"So, Zach being in New York is lame, huh?" Joe had said.

"What, you miss your obnoxious little brother?"

"Fuck no. That little shit. But who are you gonna make fun of for hooking up with Madonna? There's got to be, like, hard-hitting jibes about him being 'like a virgin' involved, right?"

"I think I'll survive," Chris had said.

*

"Yeah, but why would you join a gym?" Chris asks. "I mean, jeez, how long are you gonna be there? And more importantly, why exactly can't you just do it at home?"

"It's a whole . . . _thing_ , Chris." Zach pauses to sip something, out on a busy street. "Plus, there's no room for a yoga mat at my place, so . . ."

"Anyway, shouldn't an older man like you be worried about breaking a hip or some shit?"

"Shouldn't a younger man like you be worried about staying active?"

"Ah fuck you, Zach. I _run_. I exercise like a _man_ . . ."

"Yeah yeah. How are the kids?"

Chris looks around Zach's kitchen, comes up empty. "Harold's napping bitchily on his chair and _still_ making me sneeze even from afar and I let Noah out."

Zach sighs. "You have to walk him, Chris. It takes like, ten minutes, seriously."

"Oh come on, I can't just flounce around LA walking _your dog_ , Zach. He's fine. He gets all the exercise he needs tripping down the stairs whenever he thinks he hears me getting his food out."

"Iams with the heart stuff, right? 'Cause—"

"I got it, Zach."

*

"Annyong haseyo!"

"Oh, God . . ."

"Hey, I'm learning about your _culture_ here, dude," Chris says, sitting down across from him.

"Nope," John says.

"You're so uneducated, John," Chris laments. "I mean, God, try being a little open-minded, for once, man . . ."

"Um, I not only went to the same—ridiculously liberal, mind you —school for the same—but really better—degree as you, I am older and therefore better by default. So."

Chris laughs. "Come on, let's go order."

They walk into LAMILL and the wash of crisp air-conditioning is glorious after such oppressive sunlight. Zach's probably gotta wear like three flimsy little cardigans just to keep from shivering with all the rain on the east coast.

"So, how's Zach?" John asks, and Chris eyes him suspiciously for reading his thoughts like that. 

"Oh, you know, pining for me."

"Right, right, of course. Pining for the Pine."

"Exactly."

They move up in line and order, move off to the side like good little customers and wait.

"Hey, didn't you see Karl the other day?"

John laughs. "Mhmm . . . and Anton, of course."

Chris starts to laugh. "Wait, what?"

John raises an eyebrow. "You don't—"

"Large iced coffee? Latte with a double shot?" the barista calls. "Are these for here or to go?"

"For here," John tells her.

"No no—to go," Chris says.

"Huh?"

They get their drinks and head for the door.

"So, let me get this straight: you dragged me all the way out here to hipster land buy the coffee, and now you want to take it back to _Zach's_ house?"

"I've gotta feed the menagerie, dude!"

"You couldn't just like, buy the actual coffee and brew it at home? You've _really_ gotta—"

"Yes I do, John. And yes, it tastes better, so stop arguing and hurry up—there's probably paparazzi lurking around here. Remember that one time?"

John makes a dismissive gesture.

"No, seriously, they always pop up whenever I'm least expecting it, I swear. And at the most random and uninteresting times."

"Are you saying my company is 'uninteresting'?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that—just that it isn't quite as exciting as, for example, witnessing Zach's ability to coordinate his wardrobe with Noah's."

John sort of smothers a giggle. "Wow, you two really are lost without each other, huh?"

"Whaat?" Chris doesn't like how incriminatingly high pitched it comes out, clears his throat. "We don't spend _every waking minute_ together, John. Come on."

"Uh, you did on the tour."

"We're just friends John—just _normal_ friends. We housesit for each other and get coffee every couple of weeks and get caught up. Like you and me!"

"I would never, never let you housesit for me, Chris."

Chris rolls his eyes.

*

One night, at like three in the morning for Zach, Chris gets a voicemail:

> " _Hey, Chris. I know this is gonna sound really random, but what ever happened to your turquoise ring? It totally matched your baby blueeees, man. HA. Yeah. I'm not drunk though, I'm not. It's just, it's just—"_  
> 

>   
>  __  
>  **beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep**

>   
>  _Listen. Press._   
> 

Chris taps his phone and gets on with it:

>   
>  _Next. Unheard. Message._   
> 

>   
>  _"Oh my God, oh my God I totally pressed something there and I didn't even know it ahahaha. Chris. Buddy. You've gotta come back out, Chris. Seriously. And check your e-mail once in a while 'cause I played another one before the alcohol and you're going to weep at its sheer size and level of hardness. And that's what she said. Ahaha, okay, seriously, you've gotta like seriously check your e-mail, Chris. Okay, I'm seriously going now. Yeah."_   
> 

>   
>  __  
>  **beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep**

>   
>  _Lis—_   
> 

Chris snorts, excavates his laptop from his mostly unpacked suitcase up in Zach's guestroom. He types some things and clicks some things to get to the page:

  


Noah pads into the room, lost without him.

"Jeez, I'm gonna have to think about this one for a while," Chris tells him. 

Noah pants and whimpers.

"No, Noah. You can't go out. No."

He's just so damn hopeful.

"It's dark out, man. _No._ "

And compellingly fluffy.

Chris sighs. "Okay, fine, just don't tell Zach, okay?"

Noah spins around excitedly.

"Hey, listen to me—this will be our little secret, _okay?_ "

Noah barks, getting impatient.

"Yeah yeah I'm coming, hold on." Chris checks the rest of his e-mail before logging off, stars the ones from Zach with pictures attached that won't load quickly enough for later.

*

Harold's pupils are blown at the sight, and he's clearly on the verge of backing slowly away from him.

"Oh, calm down, Harold," Chris says. "I'm not totally hopeless. That was just with the electric mixer, and you ended up _enjoying_ your bath after you got all that violence out of your system, didn't you? I mean, you can barely even see the scratches anymore! Here, want some chicken?" Chris offers him a little fragment of the meat.

Harold just turns up his nose and flexes his tail and pretends not to notice him.

"Your loss. Hey, get down, Noah— _bad!_ You are being _bad_ today."

Noah's ears sort of flop dejectedly and Chris sighs.

"Here," he says, gives the extra meat to him instead. "Now go lie down."

Noah obeys, munching, and Chris goes back to throwing ingredients around in some semblance of recipe. 

"See," Chris tells Harold. " _Noah_ appreciates my fair and just reign over the house. It's not like I'm trying to steal the kingdom from Zach, man—I'm not, like, _bribing_ you with the food—it's a peace offering. I'm gonna step down as soon as he returns from the Crusades."

Harold doesn't care, although he does look up when Chris spills one of the fajitas messily over his comfy white T-shirt and seems to smirk before returning to his all-important naptime.

*

"You're reading something, I can tell," Zach says the next time he calls. "What is it now? The Twilight saga, right? Or something equally Brontë?"

"Ha. It's _I Am America (And So Can You!)_ , actually."

Zach laughs. "Stephen Colbert's book? Really? Dude, we should've gone to a taping while you were here."

Chris shrugs, forgetting that Zach can't see it over the phone.

"Chris?"

"Yeah, I'm still here."

"So yeaaah . . . how's, you know, life? Are you really doing that movie with—?"

"Noah's fine. Harold's indifferent, but still fine, I guess."

Zach sighs. "Okay."

It's weird to hear Zach's voice so relieved—like, too intimate or something. They aren't really _best_ friends, but it's kinda like they used to be once, for a month or two, or can be in the right situation. Sometimes Chris regrets not spending more time with Zach, and right now he regrets not doing so before, when all it took was five minutes and the will to leave his house.

Chris still thinks of Zach as a convenient work friend—that person you really get along with in that moment but can't quite ever make the time for when it becomes an effort. So maybe Chris feels a little guilty, and maybe that's why he's sitting in Zach's living room petting Zach's cat and talking to Zach on the phone.

"Ugh," Zach sighs/growls. "I don't know what to do with myself without Noah bugging me to go for a walk or Harold trying to steal my food. It's like, boring."

"I bet there's stuff to do in New York City. Just putting that out there."

"Yeah yeah, shut up, I'm sensitive about my kids, Chris."

"Such a doting father. You really ought to exercise more discipline over these little demons, though."

Zach laughs. "Just because Noah won't sit when _you_ tell him to—"

"Okay, that? Way besides the point."

More laughter. "Oh, and hey, while we're talking—do you know about this thing Tyler did with Lindsay Lohan?"

"Um, no. And I don't particularly _want_ to know. But I really hope he used protection."

"Number one, Chris? Gross. Number two, I'm sending you [a link](http://www.tylershields.com/2010/04/28/lindsay-lohan/)."

"Please don't."

"Too late. It's actually kinda cool. I don’t know, see what you think."

*

Noah charges the door like William Wallace, barks a wild battle cry.

Chris grabs his collar to hold him back and attempts to get him to _stay_. It doesn't work, so instead he slips out Zach's front door to meet whoever it is, Noah's urgent growls going muffled in the background.

"Chris?" Sendhil?

"Oh, hey. Hey, what's up?" Why the fuck is Sendhil on Zach's doorstep?

"Yeah . . . didn't know you'd be here." He blinks at Chris expectantly. And a little suspiciously.

"What," Chris laughs, "were you planning on robbing the place?"

"Heh. I was just gonna drop off some shit Zach was asking me about. Huh. I didn't think he'd really moved . . ."

Chris knows the flush of panic that tightens his chest is irrational considering the amount of time away from wherever 'home' is is _normal_ for people in their line of work. But that doesn't mean he enjoys hearing it, especially coming from Sendhil with that weird and halfway sneering look he's giving Chris. "I, uh, I don't really know how permanent it is . . ."

Sendhil laughs. "Well, if the show does _finally_ get canceled then he'll want to move on to bigger and better things. So."

 _Thanks for telling me Zach's every thought, man._ "Yeah, I guess we'll see," Chris smiles.

Laugh. " _Yeah_. . . Hey, why don't you give these to him whenever, okay? Maybe he can get out, too. There's only so much shit TV you can do before it's time to start real life."

Chris is beginning to suspect that Sendhil is one of those people Zach secretly thinks is a toolbag. It makes him say: "Well I mean they haven't announced anything yet and I just don't see them ending the series on such an open-ended note. I mean, who knows—you may have to go back for an episode or two, so."

Sendhil snorts. "Don't tell me you actually _watch_ it. I mean, seriously?"

"Okay, well I'll be sure to tell him—okay-thanks-bye!" And Chris snatches the folder out of Sendhil's hands and retreats back inside.

Noah huffs.

"Yeah, fine, you were right," Chris tells him. "Wanna treat?"

*

There must be a reason why Chris texts him instead of calling him. You'd think that something so humorless would warrant a phone call, but Chris thinks that's exactly why he's gotta text him:

>   
> Hey wtf happened?

>   
>  **lol. how do you know so quickly?**   
> 

> There's an app for that

>   
>  **it's fine. it didn't go off or anything.**   
> 

> How are you not more freaked out?

>   
>  **idk. i didn't know about it til i tried to get through midtown.**   
> 

> The world is seriously about to end isn't it? First the oil spill and now bomb scares in Times Square? Fucking crazy

>   
>  **ok but if this is armageddon then who's the antichrist?**   
> 

> Sarah Palin. How is that even a question? 

>   
>  **lol. well there's glenn beck.**   
> 

> And Rush

>   
>  **leno.**   
> 

> Haha touche

>   
>  **hey i gotta go. don't worry about me princess.**   
> 

*

Noah's been moping, and no amount of ridiculous 'conversation' with a Zach over the phone seems to be cutting it anymore. He's become so adorably downtrodden that Chris is beginning to consider taking him out for an actual walk. Maybe if he wears something nondescript he won't be noticed by a roving herd of the wild paparazzi . . .

And _maybe_ this is the reason why Chris is currently raiding Zach's closet, but if he's honest with himself it's more like an excuse. And an opportunity for a few good laughs.

Zach's pristine, zen-white bedroom becomes a sea of color within seconds, and before long Noah comes sniffing around, treading dirty doggy feet all over Zach's fashion sense but Chris reasons that it's probably for the best.

Chris finds a giant Tupperware-ish container overflowing with hats hiding in the back. These aren't the ones currently in use, clearly—there's a Pirates cap in there, for God's sake, and . . .

Chris emerges from Zach's closet with the white fedora he remembers from the press tour (and every waking second of Zach's life for a couple of months) and puts it on his head.

Noah does perk up a little at that, tongue hanging out of his mouth to pant better.

"There. Am I Zacharian enough for you now?"

Apparently so, because Noah then trots across the colorful floor to Chris and jumps up on him and attempts to leave sloppy kisses all over his face, barking whenever Chris tries to push him away.

"Sit. Hey, _sit_ , Noah. Sit!"

He only jumps higher, all big guileless eyes. Chris relents and crouches down to pet him properly, subjects himself to a bath of dog saliva as Noah licks a hot stripe ticklishly up Chris's neck and smudges his glasses beyond all hope of clarity.

*

Chris is watching a movie in Zach's house drinking Zach's beer with Zach's stupid, stupid Gilligan-esque hat on his head when his laptop dings at him to check his inbox.

Harold's ears turn in the direction of the sound, but he calms down as soon as Chris resumes scratching behind his ear, purrs against Chris's leg.

It's more scrabble:

"Fuck," Chris says to the menagerie.

Noah barks.

"I know, right?"

*

Now, Chris really, really doesn't understand how Twitter works. The @ signs and the walls and who's following who and, you know, what exactly the purpose of the whole thing is. It's all very perplexing, and he usually doesn't try too hard to understand, but sometimes he gets bored and logs on and wonders.

  
_this place is where i'm meant to be,_ Zach's tweet proclaims. _go figure_  


Which Chris finds more perplexing than Twitter itself, really. And he's got this unsettled feeling in the pit of his stomach, now. On Noah and Harold's behalf.

"You two are gonna grow up with abandonment issues if this goes any further," he tells Harold, who's been soft and warm and clingy lately.

It's a clever thing to say, and Zach would probably laugh or at least _lol_ but Chris doesn't know what _else_ to say to him so he doesn't call.

*

It's okay, though, because before long Zach calls him:

"Dude, you've gotta come back out."

"I dunno . . ."

"Come on, I'm gonna give you a _proper_ tour of the city this time."

"So you're an expert after what, a month, now?"

"Fuck yeah. Come on, I wanna take you out somewhere."

"Oh. Like. You mean like an after party or—?"

"Nah, just us." Chris may not know Zach as well as people think he does, but he _can_ hear Zach struggling for nonchalance over the phone and two-thousand miles away, so what does _that_ mean?

"Well, there is this thing my agent wants me to go to on Monday night . . ."

"So go! Come on, Chris," Zach wheedles. "Come on, there's so many cool spots to hang out here. There's more to life than LAMILL, you know."

"Yeah right."

"Come on, Chris."

*

It's hot and humid in New York. Which is fine, but not what Chris had been anticipating when he packed. His hat is itching and his jacket is way too thick for the rain scented air and the heat radiating off the dampened streets.

His phone buzzes and almost gives him a heart attack.

>   
>  **hey i'm at this super pretentious lecture for another hour but do you wanna meet before your thing?**   
> 

> Yeah. I've gotta get changed before that anyway

> Wait are you seriously sitting there on your phone like a dork instead of being professional or whatever?

>   
>  **duh.**   
> 

> Lol

>   
>  **the met gala right?**   
> 

> Yeah. I really don't wanna go

>   
>  **lol.**   
> 

> I'd rather just go to the actual met lol

>   
>  **wanna tomorrow?**   
> 

> Yeah that would be fun. So where are you taking me later?

>   
>  **surprise. just meet me at my place. and don't think you can reclaim your shirt before i get there cuz i have taken it hostage and keep it about my person at all times.**   
> 

> Ok that would definitely not fit in a tweet. You’re a BAD twitterer

>   
>  **"twitterer"?**   
> 

> Does 'twat' strike your fancy more?

> **lol i'll see you soon. <3**

  
"Wait, what," Chris says, forgetting that Noah isn't by his side to comment.

*

She picks up on the second ring and Chris just jumps right in: "What does a heart mean?"

"Um," Zoe says, continues robotically: "Hello Chris, how are you? I see your agent finally talked you into the gala—will you be my date? Actually, _do_ you have a date? Because if you need a ride I think Elizabeth—?"

"This is serious, Zoe."

"What does a heart mean? Well, traditionally, it's a considered to be a symbol of the cardiovascular system, Chris . . ."

"Urrrggghh Zoe listen Zach texted me and there was a _heart_ at the end and I don't know if that's like a _Twitter_ thing or a _thing_ thing or if, I dunno. Zoe? _Zoe?_ "

"Calm down, Chris. Hey, okay, _deep breaths_. Hm."

"Hurry up, woman, he's gonna be here any minute now. I need feminine wisdom, stat."

"Well," Zoe says, "I can't really interpret _anything_ Zach says in virtual conversation, but let me put it to you this way: who just impulse bought a plane ticket and flew across the country like you guys are doing a remake of Sleepless in Seattle _just_ to hang out?"

"The. The gala?"

"You don't give a shit about the gala, Chris."

Chris sighs. "Yeah, okay. I'll see you tonight."

*

Zach starts laughing the second he opens the door.

"Okay, so, that wasn't exactly the reaction I was expecting . . ."

Zach takes his hat off, runs a hand through his flattened hair and makes it stick up worse. Chris can't stay annoyed. "You own approximately three different articles of clothing, I swear. The 'shoes' don’t count."

"Shut up."

"And it's fucking tropical outside, dude. What the fuck?" Zach is suddenly so close in the tiny big city room, tugs on Chris's sleeve.

"I blame the Harold-induced wounds. And therefore you."

Zach sighs. "I told you not to try to brush him."

Chris laughs. Chris gets caught by Zach's ecstatic eyes. Chris kisses him.

Zach's first reaction is to gasp, and the intake of air is so loud, sucks Chris's bottom lip into his mouth. Someone groans and one of Zach's hands grabs Chris's forearm at about the time that Chris's body finally registers the situation and he goes hot and shivery all over.

But before Chris can analyze anything he's leaning forward until Zach's back hits a wall, upsets a picture frame, and the kiss modulates from breathy and tantalizing into softly open-mouthed and tasty green tea latte bliss. Chris feels blind, feels Zach's clothes and skin and hair, feels Zach's arms twine securely around Chris's neck.

Hot, hot dizziness overwhelms Chris so that he needs more air—gotta untangle their lips wetly and kiss down Zach's neck, run his hands up under Zach's/his stolen white shirt. Zach relaxes into it for a minute, shivery and sinewy under Chris's fingertips, before he pushes Chris's jacket off his shoulders, rough, and brings his hips back in, _rough_ , and kisses him sweet but insistent, hands sliding to cup Chris's face and scrape over stubble, thumb at his cheekbone and trace an eyebrow. Chris moans and claws at Zach's hands clawing at Chris's hips, moans louder when Zach grinds them together over and over.

Chris goes breathless and immobile, has to tear himself away for oxygen. Opens his eyes to find Zach looking beautiful and like this was exactly the right move and Chris can only feel guilty and stupid for not realizing . . .

Chris licks his lips, talks too scratchy: "Zach . . ."

"Fucking finally," Zach mutters, doesn't seem to have the time for further conversation and whips both of their shirts over their heads quick and drags Chris over to the nearby bed.

There's a lot of skin in not a lot of time so Chris gets desperate, gets Zach under him over the covers and kisses him deeply, Zach's sharp exhale through his nose gusting over Chris's cheek and, God, Chris can't understand what it is that he feels for Zach because he _can_ feel _everything_ for him, and the moment is so humid and dimly lit and artfully isolated in the sea of life around them that Chris can't even imagine feeling anything else ever again, and . . .

Zach's busy fingers get through Chris's jeans to his cock and Chris goes weak and tense at once, falls back onto the bed and arcs into it and he's just so—and Zach's just _so_ —and Chris just needs everything now now now—

Zach retreats to get the rest of their clothes out of the picture hurriedly and Chris meets his eyes from too far away, thinking he might die from how much he's got to have Zach in any way possible _now_. Zach blinks a lot, visibly freaking out during their staring contest, seems compelled to scurry lankily up the tiny temporary big city bed to kiss Chris, on top of him and the best—dry warm sliding skin and perfect slow kisses and Zach's hands everywhere.

Chris twists his leg around Zach's calf and aligns them better, so close after so much distance, grinds shamelessly up into Zach to get his brightened eyes to widen and close tight and blink open again to zap Chris with lust. Chris reaches between them to take both of their cocks in hand and strokes slowly and _fuck_ , becomes lost in the feeling and the lively glow to Zach's big guileless eyes.

Zach moans, loud and broken, buries his fingers in Chris's hair and rocks his hips and kisses him whenever he thinks to as they're propelled closer and closer to release.

Chris grips tighter around them and lets Zach's thrusts do the rest of the work, too preoccupied with engaging Zach's vague kisses to be any more coordinated than that. And Zach's hand tightens and tightens in Chris's hair until tears form and Zach shudders and comes warmly between them.

Zach collapses to the side, turns Chris's head for a perfect, ineffectual kiss that's all tongue and breathing while he replaces Chris's hand with his own and uses his come to make it slicker, faster, perfectly rubbing under the head of Chris's cock and dipping down to trace his balls too light and perfect, Chris feeling perfect and unable to think—comes and gasps anonymous things against Zach's lingering lips.

Everything goes breathless—the time, the place, the facts. Chris turns his head to watch Zach breathing until Zach returns to himself and meets Chris's eyes with a lazy lopsided smile.

  
_This place is where I'm meant to be,_ Chris thinks without thinking. Go figure.

*

"I don't know, I feel kinda like Austin Powers in it."

"Oh come on, just go try it on, Chris."

Chris tries it on, is fiddling with the matching blue bow tie in front of the mirror when Zach appears over his shoulder, just in jeans and fucked up hair.

Chris grimaces at his reflection. "Nah, I'll just wear the other one. See how it's a little too—?"

"That one," Zach says emphatically. "That one, that one, that one. Fuck."

Chris raises an eyebrow. "Okay, but I shouldn't wear brown shoes, right? Zach? Hey, I'm asking for your help, here— _mmf_."

Chris can't even tell whether or not his neck is straining from the weird over the shoulder angle of the kiss 'cause it's just so soft and searing and Zachful.

"Nobody gives a fuck about the shoes," Zach says when they part for air. "So, do you _really_ have to go to this thing, or . . ."

*


End file.
